thirty one
"Are you sure you don't want me to just... open it?" he asked, already tugging at the tape.
I looked up from where I was folding sweaters, "I'm sure I already know what's in there. Once I'm done with this box then I'll open it."
He grinned, teasing. "Sounds like you don't want me to see what's in there," he came closer wrapping his arms around me. "Keeping something from me?"
I shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not."
He leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, pretending to weigh my words. "You're right. I have secrets too."
"Like?"
He grinned, eyes glinting. "Like one of the leading factors in me choosing this house was how you would look na-."
"Brooks," I whined.
He chuckled to himself, clearly satisfied with getting a rise out of me.
The house still smelled like fresh paint and new beginnings. Boxes were half open, blankets draped across random chairs, and my curly hair was pulled into a bun that had long since stopped trying. But I didn't care. Not today.
"Hey." Brooks's voice cut into my thoughts. "You okay?"
I nodded, a little too quickly. "Yeah. Just thinking."
"About?"
I gestured around. "The fact that we live here now."
His mouth softened. "I like the sound of that."
Before I could respond, his phone started buzzing from the kitchen counter. He walked over, checking the screen, and sighed. "I need to take this. Shouldn't be long."
I watched him disappear into the other room, his voice already dipping into the polished tone he used when speaking to anyone remotely tied to politics. The shift was subtle but familiar. It always made my chest tighten just a little.
The house got quieter without him in the room.
I moved to the window, the afternoon light pouring in golden and warm.
The trees outside had just started turning orange and red.
Fall had come early this year. I could feel it in the air, in the breeze that snuck in through the cracked window, in the way I'd started reaching for sweaters without thinking.
The election was only three months away now.
Everything about that reality sat on a silent clock that ticked just beneath the surface of our days.
Brooks never said it out loud, but I could feel it.
The pressure. The expectation. The growing shadow of the life he was trying to build-one that didn't exactly leave much room for shadows like me.
Still, he'd made space for me anyway.
And maybe that was what scared me most.
I turned back to the pile of clothes I'd been folding when I heard his footsteps behind me.
"You're thinking too hard," Brooks said, wrapping his arms around my waist from behind.
I leaned into him. "Am I?"
"Mhmm."
He kissed the side of my neck, slow and warm. I turned to face him and caught the look in his eyes-soft, serious.
"I know you and Sam are still a little off," he said. "But I just want you to know... I get it."
I blinked. "Get what?"
"That she has her opinions. About me. About all of this." He pulled back slightly so I could see his face better. "And that's okay. But just like my parents, or my team, or anyone else who thinks they know what's best for me-we don't have to let those voices get louder than ours."
I held his gaze.
"I know what you mean to me," he said. "And you know what I mean to you. That's what matters."
Something in me softened. "You want me to make up with her."
He gave a small smile. "I just want you to have your people. I know what she means to you. And if there's a way forward for you two, I want you to have that."
I nodded, quiet. "I still need to go to the club tonight. To turn in my badge, clean out my area."
He brushed a strand of hair behind my ear. "I'll have Monte take you."
"I can take the train."
He gave me a look. "Monte will come by nine."
"Okay."
I didn't argue.
For a moment, neither of us moved. He reached out, brushing a loose strand of hair behind my ear, and I let him.
There were still boxes stacked in the hallway, bags on the floor, nothing where it belonged yet. But standing there with him, it almost felt like the beginning of something.
For tonight, that was enough.
From the backseat, I could see the entrance glowing under the awning, warm light spilling out each time the door opened. Even now, after years of walking in and out of this place, my chest felt tight.
"Want me to wait?" Monte asked, his voice low.
I shook my head. "I'll text you when I'm ready."
He gave a small nod. "Alright. Don't rush."
The door shut softly behind me, and the crisp air slid under my coat, reminding me that fall had officially settled in. It wasn't just a chill-it was the kind of cool that hinted at the first frost. The city smelled different this time of year, like a mix of damp leaves and distant woodsmoke.
When I stepped inside, I expected the usual Friday hum-music, laughter, heels on the floor-but the room was almost still. The music was low, just background noise, and only a handful of customers lingered in booths against the far wall.
Tim was at the bar, sleeves rolled, a bar towel tossed over one shoulder. He was lining rocks glasses like they were little soldiers-checking rims, holding each one to the light. It was such a Tim thing I almost smiled before he even looked up.
He caught me in the mirror first, then turned. "There she is," he said, soft. "Thought you might try to sneak in and out."
"I'm not that slick," I said, sliding onto a stool. The leather sigh of it felt familiar in a way that pinched.
He set the towel down and reached for a clean glass. "Water? Tea? I made some earlier."
"Water's fine."
He poured and set it in front of me like it mattered to do it right. For a second neither of us spoke. The emptiness did the talking.
"Place looks smaller like this," I said.
"Everything does," he murmured. "When the noise goes home."
I traced a finger around the rim of the glass. "I came to turn in my badge. Clean out my station."
"I know," he said. "You told me last week." He paused, then added, "I pretended not to hear you. Bought us a little time."
That made my throat tighten. "You mad at me?"
He snorted. "Mad? Dream, I'm old enough to be mad at the weather, not at you." He took a breath, searching for the right place to set the words.
Tim leaned on the bar, forearms braced. "You know... I still remember the first night you came in. Quiet. Watched everything like you were taking notes."
"I was," I admitted. "I didn't know what I was doing yet."
"You figured it out fast," he said. "Most girls either come in loud or they fade into the background. You... you were different. You stayed quiet, but you made people look at you."
I smiled faintly, unsure how to respond.
He kept going. "I've been here long enough to see all kinds come through. Girls chasing money, girls running from something, girls trying to reinvent themselves. Some get stuck here longer than they should. Some use it for what it is and move on."
His voice softened. "I've always thought of you all like my daughters. You know that, right?"
I nodded.
"I get a season with you, if I'm lucky. I teach you where the bad angles are, how to count security, who tips and who talks. And then one day you don't need me like that anymore." His smile was small, not sad. "That's the job."
Something in my throat tightened. "You're making it sound like I'm leaving for good."
"Aren't you?" he asked, tilting his head.
I hesitated. "I don't know. Maybe. For now, yeah."
Tim gave a slow nod. "Then I'm proud of you."
The words hit harder than I expected. My eyes burned a little, and I looked down at my bottle. "Thanks, Tim."
My eyes burned. I blinked up to keep the tears from falling forward. "I'm going to miss you."
"You better," he said, mock-stern. "I put up with a lot of lip."
I laughed, and it broke in the middle.
He slid a coaster toward me and smoothed it with his palm. "You leaving on your feet. On your terms. That's all I want. Some girls go sideways. Some don't get to make a speech."
"I didn't write a speech."
"You don't need one." He tipped his chin at my hands. "You came in with hands that didn't know where to put themselves. Now look at you-still. That's what growing looks like."
Silence again. Easy, heavy.
"I'm scared," I said, barely above a whisper.
"Good," he said. "Means you're stepping out of your comfort zone."
I studied him. "What if I'm making a mistake?"
"You will," he said simply. "Different kinds, in different rooms. That's fine."
I swallowed water that tasted like relief and metal. "I don't know what I'm without this."
"You're the same thing you were before this," he said. "You're Amira. You were the art. This was just a frame."
Something in me unclenched.
He reached under the bar, came up with a little velvet pouch and set it between us.
"What's that?"
"Lost and found," he said. "It's not diamonds. Open it."
Inside was a simple money clip-brass gone warm with age, initials scratched on the underside: T.K. The spring still firm.
I looked up. "Tim-"
"Plenty of nights guys pressed crumpled bills at you just to see what they could buy." He nudged the clip toward me. "You hold your money. You decide where it goes. You don't let it decide where you stand."
I smoothed a thumb over the metal. "You're gonna make me cry."
"Then I timed it right," he said gently.
A beat passed; he cocked his head. "And tell Mr. Senator I hope he treats you right."
It took me a second. "How'd you-?"
He chuckled. "Baby. I'm old, not blind. Eyes and ears everywhere. A man who looks like that doesn't hide well when he's trying and Monte's not subtle."
"Monte is never subtle," I agreed, smiling despite myself.
He sobered. "Be smart. Don't disappear. Call me if the world tilts."
"I will."
He clapped the bar, like we'd sealed a deal. "Go say your goodbyes."
I slid off the stool. "I'll come back-visit."